


Lead Me Out Of Hel

by FreeRangeStories (storyranger)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of trauma, Attempted Abortion, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Co-Parenting, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kayfabe Compliant, Loki Whump, M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Mpreg, Pain, Profanity, Suicidal Thoughts, Tears, Thor's a good bro, Vomiting, playing fast and loose with Norse mythology, sorry friends, there’s a lot of hurt before we get to the comfort, trying his best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 15:02:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16348940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyranger/pseuds/FreeRangeStories
Summary: Loki gets off Sakaar, but he’s leaving with an unwanted memento. He’s used to moving forward, pushing the past out of his mind to focus on what’s ahead.Problem is that this time, the past isn’t content to let him forget.Or: Loki’s pregnant (and more than a little traumatized), Thor’s doing his best, and Valkyrie’s just here to drink booze and know things. There’s a lot of fluff but you have to suffer for it.





	1. The Price of the Seiðr

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Regrets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15196082) by [MadameStylinsonoftheNoueh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameStylinsonoftheNoueh/pseuds/MadameStylinsonoftheNoueh). 



> This piece would not exist without the brilliant story [**Regrets**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15196082) by MadameStylinsonoftheNoueh. I really hope this self-indulgent sequel does your work justice.  
>  Originally I thought this would be a quick little fic where I tortured Loki for a bit (Valkyrie and Frigga were never supposed to appear let alone star) but apparently the Norns had other ideas.
> 
> This story deals with the aftermath of rape and trauma, so be warned and stay safe.

You must first understand that Asgardians have different code of sexual ethics then Midgardians; when you have all the time in the universe, people get bored. Of course, there are still taboos, and those against rape are chief among them. When you have the gift of AllSpeak, though, it considerably widens the scope of who can consent. Peter Quill could sleep his way through the galaxy and no one would bat an eye at this mixing of species, because if a human could speak to it, then it was thought of as simply a weirder, possibly misshapen human. Loki does the same, just on a much larger scale.

 

The first time he’d fucked a horse was as a teenager, when his tongue was still sometimes faster than his wit. He’d persuaded the Gods to make a rather miscalculated deal for the construction of Valhöll with The Builder; when they realised they might actually have to _pay_ the man, they’d turned on Loki with entirely unreasonable levels of anger. Svaðilfari seemed to be the key to this man’s speed, so the logical solution was to distract him. At first that had been all Loki had intended, but Svaðilfari turned out to be kind and gentle, so he slept with him anyway. By the time he returned to the palace, sore but exhilarated, the builder was revealed to be a hrimthurs, and killing the beast swiftly took priority over paying it fairly.

He’d returned to Svaðilfari since, but it was different after New York and Svartálfheim. He’d been stripped of his family, his beliefs, and his history, fallen through space and time and come out the other side broken and bitter. He’d intentionally betrayed his brother and accidentally killed his mother; in short, he’d become the villain. He arrived in that familiar forest glade seeking comfort, needing someone else to take control for a while. The Midgardians thought him abhorrent, and he must admit to a sick sort of satisfaction, as Svaðilfari brought him to a shuddering climax, in the knowledge of how repulsed the feeble-minded Midgardians would be if they could see him now.

 

He couldn’t have expected what happened next.

 

At first, he could write off the puffy eyes, the fatigue, and the constant need to pee to the cold he’d caught that night. He’d gotten caught in a rainstorm on his way back to the palace; he spent the next week moodily sipping mug after mug of tea and sniffling, a perfect excuse for letting the depression that had curled itself around his brain keep him chained to his bed. By the time his nose stopped running he’d begun to swing from feeling freezing cold to burning hot several times an hour, necessitating him to transform his clothing a truly inconvenient number of times a day. His chest ached, and most embarrassingly, his nipples throbbed every time the fabric shifted around them. Deep in his gut he knew what was happening, but there was enough rational doubt and biological impossibility surrounding that answer for him to stubbornly remain in denial for a few more weeks. Suddenly he fainted twice in one day, and that evening, unable to ignore that _something_ was wrong, Loki had slipped into his mother’s private study.

No one had entered here since Frigga’s death; the rich colours were desaturated by a thick film of dust, turning what was once a welcoming refuge into an eerie shrine. The book he’s looking for is easy to find, a small volume bound in magenta linen. The spells within were aimed at _intimate_ problems, but they didn’t rely on the user having been born with or taught the seiðr; mere housewife’s rituals, so far beneath his abilities he’d balk at performing them if he wasn’t so desperate for answers. He’d sank down on the futon he’d spent so many afternoons on in his childhood, leafing through the pages until he found the ritual to see if a fetus had took. Fetched a smooth stone from Frigga’s chest of supplies, held it against his belly and chanted the proper words. The stone grew hot between his fingers, which meant the spell was working: according to the book, if the stone turns red as it cools, the bairn will be a boy; blue for a girl; purple for a child who belongs somewhere in between. Black meant an empty womb, and if you’d done the ritual wrong the stone should be unchanged. When Loki looked down at the stone in his hand, it was a violent shade of orange.

The book had no entry for orange.

At that point, denial based on a technicality seemed more effort than acceptance.

 

If it weren’t for the strangeness of it all, the pregnancy after that point would have been fairly forgettable. The birth was a wildly different story. He remembers pain, mostly. The excruciating pain of his body trying to do things it was never designed for. In reality the birth was quick, barely three quarters of an hour, but to Loki it had felt like an eternity. The sheer terror as he realised this thing may very well tear its way out of him; the relief as, just as he thought he had nothing left and was losing his grip on consciousness, Sleipnir appeared on the ground beside him, bloodied and braying in terror. He crawled to the newborn, exhausted, and pulled him to his chest. For the first time since finding out the truth of his history, Loki felt loved unconditionally. Spell lifted, his body had returned to normal, and knowing instinctively that the foal needed to nurse but unable to provide him milk, Loki had given him the juice of a golden Iðunn apple. Sleipnir did not inherit the gift, but he was special in other ways, and much of it could be traced not just to his impressive parentage but to that first feeding.

Sometimes he tries to see the whole experience as a lesson. Before Sleipnir’s conception, he was suicidal; figuring out what was going on, observing the changes, learning the rules, it gave him something to focus on other than anguish and regret. Kept him interested enough to keep living. Giving him to Odin seemed the natural thing to do. He’d been a good father, before things went to shit between them, and he’d never seen someone treat their animals better then Odin. It even allowed him a measure of payback; let Odin learn to love someone so deeply, blind to the truth. See how he likes it, when curiosity eventually overcomes him and shatters everything.

Does it make him any less likely to fuck at every opportunity? Absolutely not. He’d slept with hundreds of beings before this, and never had any ill effects; worrying about something clearly far beyond his control, beyond all logic, seems pointless.

* * *

 

He knew when it began, this time. He felt the spark in his gut as something latched there before En Dwi Gast had even rolled off him. Back in his room the morning after, he’d made a few desperate attempts at ridding himself of it, growing weaker every time; eventually he’d collapsed in a shaking heap on the cold marble floor of his bathroom, waiting for tears that never come. By the time he saw Thor again, he had accepted that he’d have to carry the damn thing to term, and realised that his brother was the key to getting off this planet and away from the Grandmaster. He could figure the rest out later.

There was a moment back there, when Thor saw through his trickery and flicked the switch on the obedience disk, that he really thought he was finished for good this time. In that instant, his regrets weighed heavy on his soul, and he silently wished he’d been able to repay his brother’s love now that it seemed they may never meet again. But luck granted him a boon and Korg came along, providing him a band of pliable miscreants he can transform into a cavalry to save as many Asgardians as possible. A baby is the furthest thing from his mind as he charges into battle, as he places Sutur’s crown into the Eternal Flame at Thor’s request, as Ragnarök begins and Hela is destroyed alongside Asgard.

 

Now it seems like it’s all he can think about, as he feels his internal organs shifting ever so slightly, liver and lungs and stomach adjusting to this unfamiliar _thing_ within him. Among the many questions swirling through his mind as the refugee ship begins its long journey towards Midgard, the most pressing one is how the _fuck_ is he going to explain this to Thor? He’s trying not to lie to his brother. They’d had a long, painful talk after Ragnarök, and they’re attempting to work towards a point where their love for each other doesn’t feel like a burden. Honesty is the first baby step, but maybe it can wait for a few more days.

Those days quickly turn to weeks, the initial bloating morphing into a tiny but firm bulge. He’s spent so long disguising himself that he barely notices the extra effort it takes to disguise his growing abdomen. Doesn’t even bother properly shapeshifting, just adds it to the glamour he wears daily, the one that hides the all ridges, that changes the deep blue skin into something more palatable. The Loki of years past wouldn’t have settled for surface level changes, but dysphoria he felt so strongly once the truth of his Jötunn heritage was revealed had eased some. As long as the being he saw in the mirror _looked_ like who he felt he was, it worked for him. If someone were to try and touch his stomach they might be surprised as their hand hit an invisible wall; they’d feel the solidness of his body while seeing nothing. They could follow the curve and learn the truth, if they hadn’t already recoiled in horror. But he never let anyone close enough to touch him, couldn’t since that night on Sakaar despite the several enticing propositions he’d received from rebellious Asgardian youths. Thor observes these interactions with a growing level of suspicion, quietly redirecting the steady string of rebuffed individuals towards each other and the _Statesman’s_ supply of prophylactics; maybe the elders aboard the ship would disapprove, but Thor wasn’t prepared to deal with a mutinous band of horny teenagers wreaking havoc in addition to all his other problems.

Loki senses Thor’s wariness, but he’s exhausted and that makes it hard to think of anything besides the increasingly creative excuses needed to explain away his frequent disappearances so he can bolt for the nearest waste receptacle and throw up. He hadn’t had any nausea with his previous pregnancy. And Sleipnir had barely shown at all, only the slightest bulge before the ninth month; it was easy enough to hide any changes under the glamour disguising him as Odin. When Sleipnir had started kicking, though, powerful shocks that felt like they’d snap his spine in two, he feigned illness and ordered everyone to stay away. After this his belly began to expand rapidly, as Sleipnir grew to his full size in the space of three short months. But this spawn’s growth in the beginning was almost frightening; then it plateaued out for a week or two before bounding forward again, seemingly overnight. His skin aches constantly and he can’t keep anything down. He drops a lot of weight, in consequence, which only adds to the terrible strangeness of his body when he looks in the mirror at his true self.

* * *

 

Eventually after a month or so, Thor summons him to his makeshift office. He wants Loki there as he starts planning their negotiation strategy, and Loki realizes this is as good a time as any to bring the issue up.

“Thor, there’s something you should know before you bargain for my life.”

“This is hardly life or death, brother. If I can’t secure _legal_ refuge for you on Earth, I’m sure I can convince T’Challa to hide you somewhere in Wakanda.”

The trickster has built his life on a golden tongue and on being cleverer then his elder brother. Neither is helping him now, as he struggles to tell a truth that felt more tangled that any of his lies had.

“I’m… there’s going to be a child.”

“A child?” Thor’s eyes narrow. “Don’t tell me you’re adding kidnapping to the list of deeds I’m asking the Midgardians to overlook.”

“No. I’m going to _have_ a child.”

Thor’s eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly catches himself and looks at him with polite interest. “My congratulations to you, then. Loki, God of Mischief, a father. Tell me, brother, when will you welcome this child to the realms?”

Loki tries not to show his shock at Thor’s composure. Perhaps he gave his brother too little credit.

“I don’t quite know.”

“Well, find out. I know little of the hearts of women, but I know when the time comes, they want their beloved near. And you must bring her to the next banquet,” he adds, eyes lighting up at the idea. “I need to meet the one who’s to be my nephew’s mother.”

Ah. So Thor hadn’t been calm out of acceptance, but ignorance. Loki braces himself once more as he corrects him, a tad unkindly. “No, Thor, you complete moron. _I_ am with child. Me.”

“Brother, you’re not-”

“Not equipped to bear young? I’m aware, believe me. But try telling that to the child who grows inside me.”

Loki’s grabs Thor’s hand and pulls it to his stomach, eyes aflame. Thor gasps as his hand hits the rounded flesh; his eyes still show him Loki’s slim, toned figure, his hand floating in thin air a few inches from his brother’s abdomen.

“If this is another one of your games, brother,” Thor declares, voice uncertain, “I cannot discern your motive.”

He’s suddenly exhausted, worn thin by the tiresomeness of Thor’s (completely reasonable) distrust. He breathes deeply to fortify himself, and then drops the glamour. All of it.

Loki’s barefoot, dressed in a loose linen shirt and intricate fitted slacks. His hair is dishevelled, with dark circles under his eyes that look like bruises against the bright blue of his Jötunn skin. Even Thor, hardened by centuries of deceit and betrayal, knows that Loki does not show his true form without great personal cost; He would not show the bumps scattered across his face only to shapeshift the swell of his belly. Suddenly Thor is reminded of the Loki he saw in the dungeons, consumed with grief over the death of their mother

Their mother, who so long ago had ingrained a sense of responsibility in him, especially for his brother’s safety. She was the reason, even when his love for his brother seemed extinguished, he still showed mercy. Their mother would know exactly how to handle this. If she were here, she’d take unfaltering care of Loki. She’d raised a Jötunn as her own, and taught him the seiðr; helping him bring her grandchild into the world would be no great trouble.

But Loki didn’t have Frigga, he had Thor, and every instant Thor stood there, hand on Loki’s belly, he could see his brother retreating further inward. He may not understand what’s happening, but then, Thor was never the clever one; protecting his brother was about actions, not words. He gently draws his hand back, and Loki, interpreting this as a rejection, turns to flee. Thor catches his hand and pulls him back, sinking down against the wall and dragging Loki with him, coming to rest cross-legged on the floor. There may have been more comfortable options available in the room, but Thor knows his brother, remembers his penchant for forgoing furniture in times of stress. Loki crosses his arms, face tilted away, legs stretched out in front of him in a way that’s meant to suggest cool indifference but instead serves to highlight his anxiety, as he repeatedly points and flexes his left foot.

“How?” Thor asks, simply.

Loki doesn’t look at him as he answers, “It’s a long story.”

“And it’s a long way back to Midgard. Time is one resource we currently have in abundance.”

“Parts of it are unpleasant.”

“Most grand tales have an uncomfortable middle.”

“It’s far from grand.”

“It will be, if you’re telling it.”

Loki finally looks at his brother, truly looks at him. Thor’s face shows no judgement, no disgust, only concern. Suddenly Thor’s face vanishes and his field of vision becomes a deep burgundy, and Loki realizes he’s staring at the soft fabric of his brother’s cloak. His face is pressed against Thor’s shoulder, because Thor is hugging him, a warm bear hug like only his brother can give. Loki realizes this is the first time since Sakaar that the very idea of being touched hasn’t made his skin crawl, and he lets his brother keep his arms around him, leans against him as he pours out the whole sordid story of how far he’d gone for the Grandmaster’s favour, why he had been so desperate at the last to get off Sakaar. Thor listens, waiting till Loki seems finished before asking any questions; a deed quite unlike his brother, but so _very_ like Frigga.

“You said you knew, when it happened?”

“This isn’t…” Loki hesitates. “It’s not the first time.”

“You’ve borne a child before?”

“A son. Sleipnir. I believe you’re acquainted.”

Thor can’t contain his shock. “You slept with a _horse_?”

“With Svaðilfari, yes. Still do, sometimes. What, brother, does that revolt you?” Loki probes, a malicious gleam flashing across in his face. “His conversation is certainly more stimulating then yours.” The insult is reflexive, a wicked habit that he’ll probably take to his grave.

“You always were better with seduction then I was,” Thor replies, composure regained. “I used to be jealous, how you could attract anyone you pleased.”

“ _Used_ to be jealous?” Loki quips, and Thor rewards the wisecrack with a gentle punch in the shoulder and a beaming grin before gently shifting so Loki can rest against him once more. They stay like that for a long time, breathing in unison, both lost in thought.

It’s Thor who finally breaks the silence. “Do you know when?” he asks, gently, and Loki shakes his head.

“Couldn’t even guess. I carried Sleipnir for eleven months, and Svaðilfari said that was normal. I barely know anything about the Grandmaster”

Thor opens his mouth to ask something else, then shuts it quickly and leans back against the wall.

“Thor, what is it?” Loki presses. His brother’s solid presence in the face of the evening’s steady stream of bombshells has given Loki a measure of tolerance for Thor’s curiosity.

“It’s none of my business”

“Isn’t that what families do, though? Get in each other’s business? Normal ones, at least.”

Thor hesitates, but finally gestures in the general direction of Loki’s belly and asks, “How does this work, physically? I mean do you, er…”

“I don’t have a _womb_ , if that’s what you’re fumbling towards. My guess is the seiðr shifts whatever it needs to”

“It still has to come out though, somehow. Right?”

“Not like how you’re thinking. But it’s still going to hurt. There were moments during Sleipnir’s birth when I thought I was going to die. Pain worse than anything I’ve ever faced in battle.” Loki laughs suddenly, a harsh cackle that alarms his brother. “Frigga warned me once that when beings other than Asgardians gain the gift, it can have unusual consequences. I don’t think _this_ ,” he says, gesturing towards his midriff, bitterness thick in his throat, “was quite what she was anticipating.”

Tact was never Thor’s strong suit, but dammit if he doesn’t try. “I don’t… I don’t mean to push you, brother, but if this is too heavy a burden for you to bear, there are ways to relieve you of it.”

“You mean abortion,” Loki says, flatly.

“I’m not saying it’s the right choice for you, just that it is an option. There are healers on the ship we could seek out-“

“It won’t work,” Loki cuts him off, dismissive. Thor looks over in surprise, and Loki responds with a defeated shrug, his tone growing soft. “I already tried.”

“Oh.”

“I tried everything short of cutting myself open, and frankly I think the seiðr might succeed in stopping that, too.”

Silence descends upon them after this revelation. This time it’s Loki who breaks it, his voice so quiet Thor almost doesn’t hear him.

“I miss Mother” Loki says, and a wave of grief crashes through both of them.

Thor’s grip on Loki’s shoulders tightens ever so slightly. “As do I.”

“She’d know what to do.”

 “We’re going to get you through this, Loki,” Thor declares, suddenly springing to his feet with an air of unshakable confidence. “I’m not Frigga, but I’ll do what I can. You’re not alone now, brother.” He holds out a hand to Loki, who takes it and allows Thor to pull him to his feet. He wobbles a little and Thor steadies him, concern etched on his brow.

“Brother, when was the last time you ate?”

“The sight of food is enough to make me vomit right now.”

“It’s settled, then. Our first objective is finding something on this ship that you can keep down.”

And suddenly they’re kids again, Thor dragging his brother off on another breathless adventure, and Loki along for the ride, preparing to talk their way out of whatever trouble Thor manages to stick his foot in.

Right now, nothing in the universe could be more welcome.


	2. Love and Monsters

The first time it happened, accepting the impossible truth so quickly was what allowed him to be practical about things, to treat the pregnancy like a quest for knowledge rather than a terrifying nightmare. But there’d never been any question about what would happen after Sleipnir was born, even if the approaching birth itself caused a considerable amount of fear. He liked Svaðilfari, and Svaðilfari liked him, but they both knew that right now Svaðilfari didn’t have the time or resources needed to raise a foal. Odin was the sensible choice; Norway was an ideal place for Sleipnir to live, and Odin would have nothing to distract him and no threats hanging over his head that could endanger his son. If Odin had refused, though, Loki had been prepared to take on the task, however heavy the burden, because he’d known from the moment  he’d watched the rock turn orange that he loved this child, however impossible and unplanned it may be.

It’s not that he hasn’t accepted he’s pregnant again so much as he dreads what will come after, when the baby is a reality in his hands and not a prospect in his belly. Resenting his own child is the last thing he’d ever want to happen, but he doesn’t see how this will end any other way. It’s bad enough that every time he glimpses his own reflection he’s back there in that room, watching as an outsider as the Grandmaster pushes into him. The idea that the child could bear even the slightest resemblance to En Dwi Gast makes him physically ill. He just can’t imagine feeding it or bathing it or caring for it at all. The memories those thoughts churn up are too raw, too painful.

* * *

 

The Valkyrie finds out his secret the way she accomplishes most things; alcohol and persistence. She’s become suspicious of the pair ever since Thor started asking her extremely specific questions about the Grandmaster, and she won’t stop until she’s discovered what they’re hiding. (Her hypothesis was absurdly off-base: she misinterpreted Thor’s questioning for jealousy and concluded something improper and highly salacious must be going on between the Odinsons). Thor’s been holding a modest banquet every fortnight in an attempt to boost morale; she spends the next one fruitlessly trying to get Loki liquored up enough to spill the secret. Undeterred, she changes tact and corners him in his doorway afterwards, planting a forceful kiss on his shocked lips. Loki’s too astonished by the rush her touch sparks in his veins to shapeshift in time, so he heads off any possible outcries by placing a firm hand over Val’s mouth and dragging her into his room.

“Breathe a word of this to anyone,” he hisses, pulling his hand away slowly and letting that part of the glamour melt away, “and I’ll cut your tongue out of your liquor-soaked head myself.”

“And here I thought you were just trying to hide that you’d gotten fat,” she retorts, aiming for good-natured ribbing but landing somewhere in the neighbourhood of cruel. She’s not far enough yet from Sakaar to have fully regained the ability to temper her sarcasm, to come across as funny instead of just mean.

The jab at Loki’s vanity hits him hard and he turns away, intending to shove her back into the hall and retreat into his sanctuary. But she puts a firm hand on his shoulder and tugs him back, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and pulling him down into another kiss. There are no ulterior motives this time; the kiss is genuine, borne of history and proximity. Loki finds himself swept away by it. Literally swept away, as Val smoothly wraps her arms around his waist and lifts him onto the bed with a careful heave.

“Explain,” she says, pointed but still tender, when she finally breaks the kiss. She’s leaning over him, lightly trailing a finger down his torso towards his stomach in a way that makes his breath catch in his chest.

“It’s a long story,” he rasps, feeling a shiver run through him as Val brings her hand to rest on his hip, fingers splayed. She smiles, then deftly steals his pillow out from under his head and curls herself into a ball around it over his faint protests, producing a bottle of liquor from thin air in the process.

“Good thing I brought provisions.”

 

Maybe things wouldn’t have played out as they did if they weren’t confined to a refugee ship hurtling through space, where neither of them found a single other being around them interesting. But perhaps it was for the best. It’s not easy to describe what they were to each other in the limited understanding of Midgard. “Friends with benefits” is a poor approximation; it doesn’t encompass their histories or the affection between them. They were two beings with incomprehensibly long lifespans brought together by a sequence of increasingly traumatic events, who’d had sex with many beings before and would likely have sex with many beings after, but who here, now, chose to have sex with each other. It had been a long, long time since Loki had done anything undressed that didn’t come attached to strings made from razor wire, and he now found himself almost ravenous, reminded of how euphoric it could feel. The Valkyrie was possibly the only person in the universe at this moment who could keep up, spurred on further by Loki’s willingness to assume forms closer to her _usual_ type. Not always; she’d never been one to turn down a male companion simply for being male, if his temperament and aesthetic attracted her. But sometimes she longed for curves instead of angles, and (with the aid of his glamour) Loki was happy to oblige.

Of course, the bairn continued to grow. Loki could eat again, thankfully; he’d been beginning to tip over the edge from “thin and drawn” to “gaunt and frail” before Thor had set himself to finding a solution for the nausea. He’s still in a fair amount of discomfort, and tires very easily, but at least his weight’s stopped plummeting. He’d hated the idea of Val feeling the swollen belly, but changing anything near the child was not the effortless task shapeshifting normally was. Likely, the rebellious spark of his seiðr that had implanted the parasite in the first place saw fit to hamper all attempts at using magic to ignore it. Whatever the reason, after their first time, when Loki assumed a female and decidedly not pregnant form, he’d been so exhausted afterwards that he’d slept for two days straight. Thor had cornered Val and demanded to know if she’d killed his brother, and after that Val forbid him from shapeshifting the bump.

The constant nausea may have eased, but insomnia has taken its place. Whenever he’s alone his mind keeps circling back to that night on Sakaar: the one he wants to obliterate from his memory, that his ever-expanding abdomen won’t let him forget. Thor notices before Val, which is surprising considering Thor has the emotional intelligence of particularly personable rock, but then again, perhaps Loki is selling his brother short. He grew and changed in the four years they’d been apart; it was only rational that Thor had as well. So far on this voyage he’s consistently impressed Loki with his leadership in the face of uncertainty and his ability to patiently diffuse all the trivial squabbles that have arisen and threatened to boil over into disasters. It’s natural, with all of them confined together for so long, but Loki knows that were he in Thor’s shoes he probably would have murdered the lot. For Thor to notice Loki’s continued fatigue and take an interest means more then he can admit.

Also, to be fair to Val, their time together isn’t necessarily focused on _sleep_.

* * *

 

They’re a few days out from Earth, sprawled across his bed in a tangle of naked limbs and blankets and sweat. Her back is pressed against his bloated stomach, and though he is incredibly certain that he hasn’t poked her, she’s claiming otherwise. He rolls his eyes at her, exasperated; he may be the God of Mischief and petty as the day is long but he’d hoped by now she’d recognize tricks this tiresome as beneath him.

“Well something poked me,” she insists, twisting around look at him. Her eyes glance down at his stomach, and recognition suddenly dawns on both of them.

“Oh,” is all he says.

“May I?” she asks, and it seems ridiculous to him after so many weeks and all the things he’s let her do to him, for her to be asking permission as if he might deny her _this_. He nods, and she puts a hand lightly on his belly. As her face lights up Loki feels a familiar twitch.

“What are you going to name them?” she asks, quietly.

“Thinking about naming it makes it real.”

“I think it’s a bit past the time to be questioning that.”

“It’s… it’s foolish, but in the back of my mind I keep thinking, if this is my seiðr’s doing, shouldn’t it realise what a terrible idea this is?”

Valkyrie bites her lip. “I may not have the gift, Loki, but my grandmother did. And she taught me it’s not a servant, but a tool. It does what it’s willed, unless it’s used in ways it’s not meant to be, and then, yes, there are consequences.”

“I’m a Jötunn; if the seiðr is a tool, as you say, I wasn’t intended to borrow it.”

“And if you fell pregnant every time you’d fucked, I’d call it the consequence. Tool, servant, it doesn’t matter. We’re about to land on a planet that doesn’t want us, and Thor’s going to have to figure something out. Sooner, I’d say, then later, you’re going to have this baby, and you’re going to have to figure something out, unwanted as it may be.”

“Not unwanted,” Loki interrupts. His voice is a dagger and there are storm clouds in his eyes. “I never said unwanted.”

“It’s been implied. And I get why this is hard for you, but-”

“ _No_.” Loki’s stone-faced now, the energy in the room growing dangerous. “Don’t you _dare_ pretend like you understand my feelings about my child. You can’t even _begin_ to appreciate what I’m going through.”

Valkyrie stares for a minute, challenging him, before a pained look of sympathy floods her features.

“He raped you.”

The way she says it is so blunt, so unequivocal. It’s the words he’s been running from since Sakaar, and now that she’s spoken them aloud, he can’t escape. He doesn’t scream. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even move. But books and clothes begin to fly about the room, a tornado of repressed feelings bursting out the only way it can find, and by the time the swirling detritus settles Valkyrie is gone and he’s left alone without a soul to witness as he finally breaks down and gives himself over to the sorrow.

 

The daylight cycle has barely started up when there’s a soft knock on his door. He ignores it, but hears the door opens and close anyways. Loki’s completely curled in on himself, facing the wall. He doesn’t need to see the intruder to know who it is; as captain, Thor has a master code to every room. Besides, only his brother would dare enter uninvited.

“Valkyrie tattled, I see.”

“Brother, you scared her. And I can see why.” Thor’s looking around the room, taking in the carnage. “You always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

Loki’s too tired for a cutting retort, which is truly the most concerning thing of all. Thor moves closer, and when Loki doesn’t react, sits down on the edge of his bed and begins to stroke his hair like their mother used to do after nightmares. This gets Loki’s attention. He shifts to face Thor, but he doesn’t bat Thor’s hand away. He just gives him a look of confusion and then closes his eyes, breathing deeply. For a brief moment, he just allows himself to be comforted.

“I’d vow to slay that man for laying his hands on you, but I think we’d both prefer to never set foot on Sakaar ever again.”

“As touching a thought as that is, I don’t need you defending my honour. I’m a god.”

“You’re also my little brother.”

Loki manages to quirk his lips into a sort of half-smile at this, and Thor beams affectionately at him before growing serious again. Loki, sensing an uncomfortable conversation is approaching, makes a valiant attempt to wriggle out of it.

“Then before you slay him, you must allow me the privilege of torturing him for taking your hair.”

“Hair grows back,” Thor points out, running a rueful hand over the unfamiliar velvety fuzz. “I wish you’d told me the whole truth, Loki.”

“I was in full control of the situation. Sex was simply a means to an end. You of all people should be used to my methods by now.”

Thor bites his lip, glancing pointedly at the debris strewn around the room.

“I don’t doubt you’ve used your considerable prowess to get what you want, many times. Situations you had full control of, maybe even enjoyed. What I do doubt is that _this_ was one of them.”

“What difference does it make?”

“It makes an enormous difference. Loki, we thought you were upset simply because you didn’t want to have another child. If I’d known he’d forced himself upon you-”

“Then _what_?” Loki snaps at him, in a sudden rage. “What could you possibly have done to fix this, Thor?” He regrets his outburst instantly as Thor’s face falls, his countenance akin to that of a kicked puppy’s. Loki softens his tone, continuing, “Whether I seduced him or he… well. The result is the same. I’m still going to end up a monster who feels nothing towards their own child.”

“No,” Thor says, voice barely above a whisper.

“Thor, I didn’t mean you that haven’t done enough-”

“You are _not_ a monster for feeling this way.”

“I want so much to love them. They didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Neither did you.” Thor is looking deep into his eyes, and Loki wants to scream _it wasn’t like that, he didn’t rape me_.

But he’s trying not to lie to his brother.


	3. A Lesson Learned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby had to be born sometime.

They park the _Statesman_ at the edge of Earth’s atmosphere, 100 kilometres above the Scandinavian Peninsula, hovering in geosynchronous orbit until they can negotiate asylum. Publically, Thor contacts Tony Stark to set up a meeting with the UN; privately, Thor gets a message through to Steve Rogers, pleading for him to take his brother to safety. Steve and Natasha take off the moment Shuri can get them in a Dragon Flyer.

When the time comes for them to part, Thor wraps his brother up in a bear hug. “If you need me, you call, okay?” he says, and Loki nods against his chest, a few tears leaking from his traitorous eyes. Valkyrie insists on going with him, and Thor’s grateful; he hated the idea of sending Loki off alone while he’s this vulnerable.  Natasha shoos the two Asgardians inside, leaving Steve and Thor alone standing at the entrance of the ship.

“Shuri sent this for you,” Steve says, handing him a small metal ball. “It’s the safest way for you to contact us. And I’ll update you on his location once-”

“Don’t,” Thor cuts him off, shaking his head vehemently. “I can’t give him up if I don’t know where he is.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You think Stark’s suspicious?”

“When is the Man of Iron _not_ suspicious? Loki can reach me, if he wishes to.” He shrugs, suddenly looking weary. “My subjects need a home. I have a duty to them as well as my brother.”

Steve nods, giving Thor a firm handshake. “You’re a good man, Thor Odinson. Good luck.”

“Hale go forth, hale return, hale on your ways, Captain Rogers.”

 

He’ll be safest in Wakanda, Steve argues as they near the surface, where Shuri’s cutting edge resources and unparalleled defenses can handle any complications. But Loki won’t hear of it. He’s uncomfortable enough already with how many people have become aware of his condition in the last hour; hiding his enormous belly is out of the question now that he’s almost too exhausted to cast the most basic glamour, the one that hides the icy blue of his skin. And he’s heartsick for Asgard, so Natasha suggests one of her old safe houses, hidden far up in the secluded Trollheimen mountain range. She swears she’s already killed anyone who could have known about it, and it’s the closest place to home they can give him. The cabin is small but surprisingly spacious, modern appliances and old spy gear mingling with the cozy Nordic décor. The nearest tiny village is at least a day’s walk away, but Val finds an old wagon in the shed and she can carry enough in each trip to last them almost week. There are books on the shelf and a fire in the hearth.

It’s perfect.

 

A few weeks later Thor stands in front of a mirror in Tony’s New York apartment, practicing his address to the Security Council. Tony’s gone down to the lobby to pay the shawarma guy, so he’s alone when Loki suddenly appears by his side, dressed in his most form-fitting armour, every hair in place.

Thor looks at him and sighs. “You’re not really here.”

“No, you idiot, of course I’m not. I’m in Norway.”

“Norway? Where Father-”

“Yes. Look, Thor, it’s time.” Loki flickers before him, grimacing. “Valkyrie left for the supply run a few hours ago. I’m alone… and I’m scared. Will you come?”

A key turns in the lock, and Tony’s brash voice rings out from the entryway. “Don’t freak out, Point Break, they forgot your pickles but I have a jar of them somewhere-”

“I’ll come,” Thor promises in a hurried whisper, and Loki flickers out.

 

He’d wanted total solitude for Sleipnir’s birth, but this time he’s loath to be alone, even for a moment. Thor urges him to try and sleep now, while the pain’s not yet intense, because he’ll need all his strength for what comes next. Loki knows he’s right, but will only agree when his brother climbs into the bed beside him. They haven’t shared a bed since they were children, and Loki half expects to be mocked for his clinginess, but Thor just recites a prayer for safety and rubs his back until he falls asleep.

When he wakes, Val has returned with supplies. She makes soup while Thor coaxes Loki outside for a walk, and after he eats they settle him between them on the couch in the common room. They’re too far up in the mountains for television reception, but there’s a DVD player and a milk crate full of movies labelled “Capsicle’s Catch-Up Crate” in Tony’s precise handwriting and a comically detailed operator’s guide in Natasha’s angular script. Val picks one at random, almost ruining the disk by inserting it upside-down; after a lot of bickering, the three Asgardians spend the next three hours trying to make sense of _Pulp Fiction_. Thor picks _Wall-E_ next, reasoning the moving drawings and space robots might be more familiar. They’re halfway through when Loki falls asleep, and once she’s sure he can’t hear them, Val asks the question they’ve both been thinking.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

Thor sighs, looking slightly sheepish. “I was hoping you would.”

“I’m a Valkyrie, not a midwife.”

 “I suppose we just have to do the best we can.”

 

Loki wakes up at the end of _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_ , to find the other two sleeping, and curls in on himself as a powerful contraction hits. He manages to silently endure a few more before he is overtaken by a violent wave of nausea; he struggles to his feet and stumbles to the washroom as fast as he can, the sound of his retching waking the others. Val joins him, smoothing his hair off his face and waving Thor away as she begins to draw a bath to help ease the cramping. Thor can hear Loki’s whimpers through the closed door, and he has to leave the cabin and take a minute outside to collect himself. Even when their relationship was at its lowest point, he’s never liked seeing his brother in pain. He looks towards the sky and lets out a roar of frustration, some stray bolts of lightning bursting forth from his fingertips. Loki doesn’t hear him yell, but he sees the lighting flashing across the otherwise empty sky. Eventually the water begins to cool, and Val helps him dry off before he slips on a clean night shirt and slowly shuffles back to his room. Thor’s waiting for him with extra blankets and every pillow in the damn cabin, and he tries to make Loki as comfortable as possible given the circumstances. He sits on the floor beside the bed, holding his hand, and Val lies on the bed next to him, rubbing his back as Thor had done the night before.

Loki remembers thinking Sleipnir’s birth took forever, but he realises now, almost a full day in, that it had been a sprint compared to this unceasing marathon. He knows it only gets worse from here, but he can’t imagine enduring for much longer.

“I can’t do this,” he groans, squeezing Thor’s hand as another surge of agony courses through him. “I’m so tired.”

“Brother, you must.”

Loki’s grip relaxes, and he gasps for air. “I… I want Mother,” he whispers, so quiet that only his brother can hear. Before Thor can respond another contraction hits, and Loki’s crushing his hand, clearly holding back a cry. The pain is blinding now, his jaw clenching so tightly Thor is afraid his teeth will crack.

“Trying to stay quiet is only going to hurt more, brother. It’s okay. Let it out.”

So Loki screams, an anguished, feral howl that pierces Thor to his core. Even though he’d been the one to encourage it, the sound makes Thor question if he’s going to be able to stand this much longer. He chides himself immediately for his weakness: whatever discomfort he feels, his brother is feeling a thousand-fold. Loki screams again and again until tears are streaming down both their faces. The contractions keep coming, so close together now he can hardly tell where one stops and the next begins. He’s shaking uncontrollably, and he can barely summon the energy to mumble that he needs to sit up. Thor and Val manage to drag him so he’s resting with his back against the headboard, and suddenly every nerve in his body is on fire. The pressure in his abdomen is so extreme that he’s certain it’s about to rupture, and yet still it builds, and he closes his eyes, still screaming, but he can no longer recognize the sound coming out of his raw throat-

 

He opens his eyes, and he’s in a field. A gentle breeze blows through the grass, and before him stands a colossal ash tree.

Underneath it sits Frigga.

“Mother?”

She leaps to her feet, engulfing him in a powerful hug. “I’ve missed you so much, my son.”

“Am I dead?”

“No, sweetheart. Your body’s gone into shock, but you’re still alive.”

“I’m so sorry, Mother,” he sobs against her chest, and she cards a soothing hand through his tangled hair as she guides them both to the ground.

“Do not waste what precious time we have together with regrets, Loki,” she chides him, moving her hands to cradle his face and using her thumbs to wipe away the tears. “Tell me how you’ve been.”

He knows better than to trust he’ll have time to tell her everything, so instead he guides her fingers to his temples. She raises an eyebrow and he nods, giving her permission. He tries to stay calm as the wave of memories flashes through his mind. He’s invaded countless others without hesitation, and it’s not even the first time he’s let her do it to him; nevertheless, being the observed instead of the observer has never gotten easier. He tries to counteract the anxiety by focussing on how much he loves her, hoping she’ll read the apology etched into it.

She pulls back her hand and hugs him once more, anger clear on her face. He’d hoped she’d miss the bit with the Grandmaster, but alas, he isn’t so lucky.

“My poor boy, she whispers. “Why have the Norns been so cruel to you?”

“It’s okay, Mother. I’m okay.”

“No, my love, you’re not. And you never will be, unless you stop pretending nothing happened.”

He finally gets it. The lesson his seiðr has been trying to teach him all along. He can’t outrun the past.

He has to confront it or he’ll never start to heal.

 

He slams back into his body. The pressure is still building but he’s not screaming from the pain anymore. He’s screaming out of anger.

The Grandmaster had violated him. It wasn’t Loki’s fault, and it was not fair. He was not okay.

And suddenly, the babe appears on the bed next to him.

Loki sinks down into the pillows and just lies there, feeling numb. Thor wraps the newborn up in one of their cloaks, and Valkyrie strokes Loki’s hair as his body begins to shift rapidly back to normal.

“She’s beautiful, Loki,” Thor murmurs after a while. “I think you should meet her.”

Loki sits up, unsteady, and Thor settles next to him, cradling her like he’s been holding babies his entire life. Loki focuses on breathing as Thor gently places her in his arms.

She opens her eyes and blinks up at him, and the tiniest spark of warmth blooms in his chest.

“Hey, Hildr. I’m your father.”

It’s a start.

* * *

 

For now, at least, he decides that what’s best for Hildr is to send her to Bucky. He hasn’t healed enough to give her the love she deserves, and besides, he won’t take the risk of bringing her back to the _Statesman_ with him. It’s dangerous for Loki to be on board during the asylum negotiations, but Loki can see his brother needs his help and he owes Thor. The Wakandans think having something besides the goats to look after will be good for the White Wolf. Bucky’s not sold at first, but Steve reasons that a baby’s really not _that_ far from a service dog. Anyways, he’s waited almost a century to start his family. He’s getting impatient.

Despite his initial skepticism, when Steve visits him a few weeks later after a hard mission it’s clear: she may not be human, but she’s definitely their daughter.

She’s what ultimately gets him over his revulsion for his prosthesis; putting it on becomes a necessity with an energetic baby constantly needing to be fed, bathed, changed, and played with. Viewed in that light, it becomes a part of him, a tool instead of an invader.

She grows much faster than a human child, and the development milestones are jumbled. She can understand abstract concepts before she can manage to vocalize them, yet she’s speaking full sentences before she can crawl. She inherits AllSpeak, which is useful for a child whose caregiver still unconsciously switches between two languages on an hourly basis, and who often must leave her in the care of those who speak a third.

Bucky calls Loki one night, unprompted. It’s a bit of a shock, considering Loki didn’t know the _Statesman’s_ comm system could pick up the signal from a personal vidcom. It’s pretty awkward, too, considering Loki and Bucky haven’t even met properly yet. That first call is mostly just silence as Bucky turns the camera towards Hildr and lets him see she’s alright. He feels relief course through him and lets out the breath he didn’t realise he’s been holding; she doesn’t look like the Grandmaster, not at all. She looks like _Frigga_. The only difference is the shock of raven-black hair, though it’s still a wild mess of curls as hers had been. He takes it as another message, a reminder from his seiðr that no matter the circumstances, Frigga was his true mother. After a while Bucky awkwardly waves at the camera, and Loki whispers “thank you” as the call ends, feeling tears pricking at his eyes.

He thought that would be the end of it, but Bucky calls him again the next week, and the next. Loki finds that the resentment he was so afraid of does not come, and instead, watching her grow helps him heal. The emptiness he’d felt upon her birth gives way to that same love he’d felt for Sleipnir; it just takes longer. It takes four calls for Loki to work up the courage to ask Bucky why he’s doing this for him.

Bucky wasn’t there for the Battle of New York, though he’s read the mission reports, seen the death toll. But Bucky knows a thing or two about coercion, about having your body violated. He’s willing, perhaps even more then Thor, to cut the God of Mischief some slack.

“And I need you to train her,” he adds, a bit guiltily, after stumbling through the rest of his reasoning. “I wasn’t sure at first, but she definitely has the gift.”

_Oh._

“Which is freaking me out a bit, I won’t lie,” Bucky continues, “magic being real and shit. But I can’t risk her causing a catastrophe like Sokovia. ”

“I’m going to need a ride,” Loki quips, and Bucky gives him a slow smile.

 

Loki’s far more nervous then he’d care to admit, as the Dragon Flyer approaches the surface. It’s just him and Steve in the craft this time, and though Thor and Bucky have softened his opinion of Loki, being alone with him still puts Steve a little on edge. In the crisp black suit he always wears on Midgard, he’s severely overdressed, especially next to Bucky, who’s clad only in jeans and an undershirt. Steve gives Bucky a warm hug before disappearing into the hut, returning a few minutes later in joggers and a t-shirt, carrying Hildr on his hip.

“You’re getting so big,” he says, making a show of pretending he’s struggling as he sets her down gently. She laughs, throwing her arms around his neck in delight.

“You’re early,” she squeals, and Steve shoots a look at Bucky. He merely shrugs, a roguish gleam in his eyes.

“I think Dad played a trick on you,” Steve says, straightening and folding his arms in mock annoyance.

Bucky smiles. “I wanted her to have a surprise.”

They stare at each other, affection clear on their faces, and Loki wonders if maybe they’d forgotten he was here. He feels like he’s astral projecting rather than physically present, so when he feels a tug on his suit jacket he jumps a little. Hildr’s standing in front of him, holding tight to the jacket to help her balance. Instinctively, Loki drops to one knee and holds out his arms to steady her.

“Daddy says you’re my father,” she says, looking at him with wide, curious eyes. Loki looks up at the other two, questioning, and Bucky nods while Steve says, apologetic, “Bucky got Dad and I took Papa.”

“That’s right, Hildr,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “I’m your father.”

She grins in excitement. “You know my name?”

“I do, sweetheart,” he answers, burying his face into her soft black hair to hide his complete loss of composure.  “I gave it to you.”

 

The inside of the hut is a mishmash of Wakandan technology with more American-style furniture, added by T’Challa with the aim of making Bucky feel more comfortable. Loki sits down on the faded sofa, looking completely out of place, and Hildr immediately climbs up next to him. He doesn’t flinch away or tell her to move; satisfied she’s not making him uncomfortable, she settles herself in his lap. Reassured that Loki won’t cause trouble, the supersoldiers leave him and Hildr to get acquainted and slip into Bucky’s- _no_ , _their_ bedroom.

“She’s growing up too fast,” Bucky says quietly, collapsing onto the bed, and Steve lets out a laugh as he sits down next to him.

“Every parent says that, Bucks.”

“No, I mean literally.” Bucky swivels to face Steve, tucking his left leg under him as he talks. “She’s already eating solid food. She can walk a little, and she talks like an adult. Reading too, real stuff, not just picture books. She’s tri-lingual, for Chrissake.”

“Technically according to Thor she’s _omnilingual_ ,” Steve points out, teasing, but he grows serious when Bucky fails to smile. “Hey, look at me,” he says quietly, and Bucky does, taking Steve’s outstretched hands in his. “I know it’s easy to forget that she’s anything other than our little girl, but she’s not human. She’s a demigod, at least, possibly more. She’s gonna grow up at her own pace.”

“Our little goddess,” Bucky whispers, and there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. Steve catches his mouth in a kiss, intending to keep it chaste, but Bucky hasn’t seen his lover in weeks. He’s not letting him off so easy. They kiss until Steve pulls back with a low moan, resting his forehead against Bucky’s and panting softly.

“Miss me, did you?” Steve quips, and Bucky answers with a deeper, rougher kiss that knocks the air from his lungs properly this time. “Okay, fair enough,” he rasps, and Bucky’s smiling for real now, a beaming grin that reminds Steve of the old days. It’s been 97 years since he was that scrawny, asthmatic kid from Brooklyn, but the breathless way Bucky kisses him always brings him right back there.

“You okay leaving them alone together?” Bucky finally asks him, shifting so he’s lying against Steve’s side.

Steve wraps him up a strong embrace. “Do you trust him?”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t there in New York.”

“I trust your judgement, Bucks. And I think the man has a right to see his child.”

“Okay then,” Bucky says, pushing him down against the mattress, “let’s make the most of the free babysitting.”

 

Meanwhile, in the common area, Loki’s found himself at a loss for words. He decides the best place to start is with a question.

“What have they told you about me?”

“Only that your brother works with Papa. That makes him my uncle.” She’s just started playing a bit with the other children in the village, and she’s become obsessed with genealogy. Her family tree looks nothing like theirs, and so far it’s an inexhaustible source of delight. “You live somewhere dangerous, so that’s why I live here. Oh, and Daddy says you dress like a witch,” she adds, giggling, and Loki smiles despite himself.

“Would you prefer I dressed like him?” he asks, gently moving her out of his lap so he can stand. He waves his hand and the suit transforms into a darker version of Bucky’s jean-and-tank combo.

Hildr claps in delight at this display, bursting into a fit of laughter. “No, Father, you look silly!” The way she says _Father_ makes him feel like his heart will explode.

“Well, how about this?” he asks, and the tank changes into a flannel and a hoodie, like he’s seen Thor wear on Midgard.

“That’s not you,” she says, sagely, and he changes back to the suit in agreement, “but this is so fancy.”

He gives her a rueful smile at that, admitting, “Vanity is a weakness of mine.”

“What do you wear to be comfy?” she asks, and it’s a harder question then she realises considering he hasn’t really relaxed since the Statesman entered Earth’s orbit. It takes a moment, but finally with a wave of his hand he shifts to a leather tunic-vest and a soft green sweater, along with the mitred slacks that have become his trademark.

“This is what I wore on Asgard, when I did magic with my mother.”

She beams at him, appeased. He sits back down and she hops into his lap again.

“So you know about your Uncle Thor, and my taste in clothes,” Loki says, and she nods in agreement. “Do you have any questions right now?”

“Why are you in danger?” she asks, bluntly.

“Thor’s not just your uncle, he’s a king. Our realm was destroyed and now he’s trying to find a safe place for us to live.”

“Like the Death Star?” she asks, and he places a hand gently over her forehead, skimming her thoughts to try and understand the reference.

“A bit like that, but with dragons.”

“Woah. But you got away?”

“Yes. We’re living on a space ship now while Thor talks to the world leaders.”

“The world leaders are dumb. They made Dad and Papa go on the run.”

“They don’t love me much either. That’s why it’s dangerous for me to be on the ship.”

“So that wasn’t just an excuse because you didn’t want me?”

Loki shakes his head vehemently. “No, sweetheart, it wasn’t.”

“If Thor is the king, does that make me a princess?”

“Technically not. I was adopted, so _I’m_ not in line to the throne. But Uncle Thor sent you this,” he adds wryly, pulling out a lumpy parcel, “so maybe _you_ are.”

She unwraps a delicate golden diadem, rescued from Frigga’s study along with her small chest of supplies just before he’d placed Sutur’s crown in the Eternal Flame. Originally he’d given it to Thor, as a peace offering, but Thor had returned it this morning, insisting their mother would want Hildr to have it. She tries to put it on and it immediately slips down across her face like a drunken halo. She frowns, annoyed.

“Here, let me.” He holds it just above her scalp with one hand and slowly passes his other over her head. Tendrils of the seiðr swirl through her hair, twisting it into an elaborate updo that holds the circlet in place. “This was your grandmother’s,” he chokes out, overwhelmed that the beautiful, perfect child in his lap was _his_ daughter.

She brushes her fingers across his temple and a question bubbles in his subconscious. She’s too young and too unskilled to search his mind by herself, but he understands what she’s looking for and helps her by concentrating as hard as he can on an image of Frigga.

“She’s so pretty,” Hildr whispers. “Will I be able to do magic like you and her?”

Loki takes her hand in his, a small green flame forming above her palm. “Focus on keeping the flame alive, okay?” he tells her, and gives her a moment to concentrate properly before slowly drawing his hands back and withdrawing his energy. The flame keeps flickering bravely for a few seconds before going out.

“I messed it up,” she says, face falling, but Loki shakes his head again and hugs her tightly.

“No, sweetheart. You did it.”

 

It’s awkward at first, but they quickly fall into a routine. Instead of heading straight to Wakanda when a mission is over, Steve stops on the Statesman and picks up Loki, who watches Hildr for a while Bucky and Steve get some alone time. After Steve has been welcomed home _thoroughly_ , Bucky and Hildr make dinner while Loki fills Steve in on how the negotiations are going. Once Hildr’s asleep, they sit around the hut’s small coffee table, drinking vodka and trading stories.  Sometimes the stories are about Hildr; the adults of the village love her, and now that she’s showing signs of her gift the elder women insist on including her in their divination circles. She’s become something like a celebrity to the other village children, though they’re slowly taking to her the way the older residents took to Bucky. But mostly the stories are about themselves, as they slowly try to build a relationship beyond just uneasy co-parents. Though everyone had agreed at the beginning that this might be temporary, it’s clear to Loki that Bucky and Steve are the perfect parents, and it’s clear to them how deep Loki’s affection for Hildr is. He tells them outright he wants her to stay with them, and though he’d never dream of asking, they make it clear that once the negotiations are over, he’s welcome to visit as often and as long as he wants.

 

In the end it takes almost three months for Thor to reach a deal, and then like some cosmic joke disaster strikes just as they’re about to bring the ship into the atmosphere. When Steve arrives to collect Bucky he doesn’t know the full picture of what happened, just that only some of the Asgardians made it to Earth alive, and some megalomaniac named Thanos is here and hell bent on destruction. Neither wants to say it aloud, but on some level they both understand that this battle could be very well be their last. Saying goodbye to Hildr is excruciating, as much as they try to pretend that everything’s going to be alright.

In the end it’s Hildr who convinces them things might turn out okay, looking up at them with those unnervingly wise eyes and chiding, “Natasha’s waiting.”

“I know, kiddo, I know.” Bucky’s eyes are shiny, and Steve, heedless of the watching villagers, squeezes his hand in support. They’ve been trying to keep things discrete around strangers, but at this moment he couldn’t care less if **_Is Captain America having gay sex with ex-Hydra assassin Winter Soldier?_** was tonight’s top story on CNN. “Daddy’s just going to miss you”.

“You and Papa are the one running off into danger, Daddy,” she points out with an impish grin. She grabs each of their free hands with one of her smaller ones, completing the circle. A tiny, improbable family in the face of an apathetic universe. If you’d asked any of the Wakandans there that day they’d tell you that for a minute, the trio actually _glowed_ , even though Steve and Bucky couldn’t remember it; they’d been too busy memorizing every detail of their daughter’s face to notice the subtle golden glow of her seiðr as she tries to cast her first protection spell. (It doesn’t work. She’s still too young, her gift not strong enough to cover two grown warriors with danger in their veins. But it’s enough to mark them as _hers_ , and one day that could make all the difference.)

“Promise me you’ll be smart?” she demands, and she looks so serious, so _old_.

“Promise,” they manage to stammer out, both aware of the irony that their infant daughter was giving them orders, but unable to ignore such a sensible request.

“I love you, kiddo,” Bucky says, lifting her with his metal arm and pulling her to his chest. Steve sweeps both of them into a bear hug and they just breathe together, once, twice, three times. Then Hildr kisses Steve’s cheek and buries her face in Bucky’s neck for a brief moment before kissing him, too, farewell.

“Go,” she says, and this time they listen, walking out of the village shoulder to shoulder. Rogers and Barnes, off on their next great adventure.


	4. Epilogue

Even though he may have fallen to Thanos, Hildr’s not done saving Loki. After The Snap, a grief-stricken Steve retreats with her to Trollheimen, to the cabin in the mountains where she was born. Unwilling to accept, as her father seems to, that they’d lost both Bucky and Loki, she decides she’ll do whatever it takes. The seiðr within her, impressed at her courage, calls to Sleipnir, and Sleipnir answers. Small as she is, she manages to mount him, and together they ride through the gates of Niflheim, resolute that they shall not leave unless Loki returns with them. She’s so ferocious and Sleipnir so terrifying that no one dares argue or intervene as she takes Loki’s trembling hand and leads him out of Hel.

She brings him home to the cabin, where they’re met in the doorway by a frantic Steve, who’d woken an hour before to find his daughter’s bed empty. Shocked, they’re both about to start screaming at the other for letting Hildr hurl herself into danger, but she steps between them and grabs both their hands, wilful.

“Papa, I brought Father home,” she says, purposefully. “And he knows where they sent Daddy.”

“Well how about that,” Steve chokes out. Eyes filling with tears, he sweeps her up into his arms and pulls Loki through the doorway so he can shut out the night.

 

Bucky is too great a challenge, even for one as fierce and powerful as Hildr. But she still has time yet to grow, and she is the child of gods and heroes. One day, together, they will find a way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn’t really think I’d let Loki stay dead, did you?
> 
> Thanks for reading, friends!

**Author's Note:**

> Thor might not understand what the hell is happening but damnit if he’s not trying to help!


End file.
